


Shivering

by De_muir_eyes



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Coming Out, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 12:46:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3692859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/De_muir_eyes/pseuds/De_muir_eyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A secret burns Newt up, but letting it out proves even more harmful - that is, until someone new comes up in the Box, someone with cognac eyes and a beautiful smile. But a beautiful smile can't stop all the evil in the world...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shivering

Newt shivered. The night was cold and his hammock offered little protection from the bitter winds that attacked. All around him he could hear even breathing and the occasional snore, most likely from Frypan. But no matter how easily sleep came to the rest of the Gladers, Newt was unable to let its embrace take hold of him; his endless thoughts and, more recently, fears acted as a barrier which even the most beckoning of dreams struggled to break through. He would lie on his back, contemplating his situation and trying to understand the maze that governed their lives, the maze which stole their memories – and some of their lives. Already several boys had been killed by the towering monstrosity – Newt could remember their names, if not their faces.

Another icy blast attacked Newt, jolting him back from unpleasant memories and finally convincing him to venture out of his hammock, down to his favourite spot down by the Deadheads. The moon guided his way with its unforgiving brightness, illuminating him in white. Not a sound was audible, except for Newt’s breathing and the occasional clack of a beetle’s legs.

As he sat down, he searched his mind for what was bothering him. He hoped, he wished that it would be something new, something to take refuge in and escape from his predicament. But of course it was not. It was the same as always: lingering, never far enough from his mind to calm his heartbeat.

He was gay.

Whilst other boys chatted about girls, Newt never considered them as desirable an object as his friends did. Of course, he would join in the conversation with them, so as to keep up the façade of… of being normal? Why should his feelings be branded as unnatural, as wrong? But somehow, Newt knew that it was something which was out of the ordinary, which would distinguish him as someone different.

The blond sighed – a heartfelt sigh, as confusion wreaked havoc upon his already fragile mind.

He knew that he had to tell somebody, that he had to lift this weight off his shoulders before it grew too large for even him to handle.

“Can’t sleep?”

Newt turned around with a sharp intake of breath – he hadn’t realised that he wasn’t alone.

“Care to chat about it?” asked Gally, his friendly face smiling.

“Can’t a guy get some privacy?” retorted Newt, not entirely meaning it: Gally provided a welcome distraction from the thoughts which plagued Newt. “How come you’re up so early?” he queried with a smirk; Gally was not known for his willingness to get up early.

“Saw you were out of bed, thought I’d check up to see how my best friend was doing.”

“Only friend you mean.”

Gally put his hand to his mouth, feigning shock, earning a nonchalant shrug from Newt. He remained silent however, perhaps just as pensive as his companion.

Newt shivered once more. He knew that when he came out, Gally would have to be the first one to know. He was a true friend, and even his disproportionate nose had begun to grow on Newt.

The blond gulped, perhaps a little too loudly, and ran his hand through his silky hair. A sense of impending doom had found its way to his stomach, burrowing in and seemingly dissolving it. “Not tonight,” he thought, “wait just a little while longer.” The thought never seemed to alleviate his fear though, so he decided to return to his hammock, wishing that he actually knew what time it was. The wind had settled down though, resolving itself to gently rock the hammock and Newt to sleep.

 

***

 

At breakfast, Newt slotted in between Alby and Gally. As a runner, of course, he had to hurry his breakfast, and before Alby had even really started to eat, Newt had devoured his meal. He left the dark-skinned man shaking his head and smiling, and quickly flashed a smug smile back before going off towards Minho and the other runners. He got on better with Minho than the rest of the runners, whose conceit and unfounded pride made them intolerable – Minho tempered his confidence and was for that reason both the Keeper and almost universally liked – although Gally always seemed to find reason to take offence to him.

The running was, of course, uneventful, but nevertheless entertaining enough. His long legs made the running much less strenuous, but by the end of the run, Newt was sore and short of breath. He relayed his findings in the Map Room, and went off to get changed.

His sudden solitude brought forth the memory of his decision last night, a promise which he knew he had to keep. But his stomach churned, protesting against such a risk, and Newt was forced to push the memory to the back of his mind, locked away.

Dinner was as raucous as ever, perhaps accentuated by the arrival of a new Greenie, some kid called Chuck that looked surprisingly young, possibly only twelve or thirteen. He was smiling, but his eyes were red and swollen, and his expression was bordering on fear. “Understandable,” thought Newt – his own first day was awful, his terror not at all allayed by the fact that he was in a group.

“Poor shank,” observed Gally, nodding in the Greenie’s direction. Newt merely nodded as a reply, not feeling particularly talkative – in fact, that all-too-familiar fear had resurged.

“Although he looks like he was well-fed, wherever he came from,” remarked Gally, forcing Newt to concede a smile.

“I daresay Frypan won’t let him down, though,” he said, his British accent coating his words.

A long silence followed, and Gally looked at his friend with troubled eyes.

“Newt – dude – seriously, what’s wrong with you? You seem… scared. You can trust me, you know that.”

Newt’s brown eyes darted from the ground to Gally several times, before stating that he was tired and needed to go to bed.

And even though the sun had not yet disappeared behind the maze walls, Newt found himself in bed, violently willing himself to go to sleep and let his dreams transport him from his life here in the Glade. Dreams did eventually take him, but he found little solace in them: nightmares plagued him, and that one fear seemed to follow him, even into his sleep.

 

***

 

Newt woke up the next morning to an indignant poke from Gally.

“Get up sleepyhead, you’ve almost missed breakfast.”

The freckled boy continued to poke Newt until he had finished rubbing his eyes.

“Shuck off,” he spat, “I’m awake already.”

Gally smiled, apparently pleased with Newt’s spirited reply. He left Newt to get changed and ordered some breakfast for the both of them. When Newt arrived, he sat down once more between Gally and Alby – it was his favourite seat – and began to wolf down his food before he realised that today was the runners’ day off, at which point he slowed down.

Alby made eye contact with Gally, who shrugged, and turned around to talk to Newt, his deep voice somehow comforting.

“Are – are you alright buddy? You seem a bit distanced lately. You’re not – you’re not homesick are you? Because Newt, we’ve all been there you know, and, and sure it’s hard, but I – I know that you can pull through buddy. We need you, you know, because you are the glue that holds us together, you know, and, uh… yeah, we need you.”

Newt remained silent throughout Alby’s obviously planned speech. “Good,” he thought, “as long as they don’t realise what the real problem is.”

Alby sighed, then awkwardly patted Newt on the back, earning a smile, albeit fake, from the blond.

“C’mon shuckface, let’s go terrorise the Greenie” said Alby, coaxing out a genuine smile on Newt’s face.

Newt had always done the tours for the Greenies. He loved to see their eyes widen as they fully comprehended their situation, hear their hearts thud as their situation finally dawned on them, and feel their resignation as the tour concluded. Chuck was no different – perhaps a little more excitable than his older counterparts, especially when they heard a Griever’s shrieks, which caused him to grab hold of Newt’s hand – not in the loving way, which Newt desired, but in a childish way, holding on to that hand as if the slender fingers could protect him from every evil out in the world, every malignant force which could come their way. Newt allowed him, of course. He felt Chuck’s skin, surprisingly rough hands which are usually indicative of a hard worker, but pudgy fingers which countered any such notion.

As they neared the end of the tour, Chuck asked, innocently enough, “Do you love boys?”

Newt’s heart leapt into his mouth, his stomach churned violently, and it took quite a few deep breaths to calm himself down to a level at which he could answer the question.

“What makes you ask that?”

“You look at them differently, like their presence makes you… I dunno, happy.”

There was a long pause, in which Chuck’s gaze never wavered.

“No Chuck. I – I don’t.”

Newt changed the subject, ensuring that the conversation was over. Chuck looked a bit deflated, but didn’t press the matter.

 

***

 

At the campfire that night, Newt noticed the stares from the Greenie, but ignored them. The sound of 50 boys boasting, shouting, laughing and being generally rowdy was unparalleled, and even the occasional shriek from a Griever was drowned out by the noise. Newt wasn’t particularly fond of such campfires – they usually ended in some sort of brawl which Gally was more likely than not involved in. Newt slipped away quietly, noticed only by Chuck and Alby, neither of whom endeavoured to follow him.

The rustling trees that surrounded his favourite spot were long and slender, providing no opportunity for anyone to climb up. Not that they hadn’t tried. Newt winced as he remembered Zart falling down, and his broken arm hanging at an unnatural angle.

Newt especially loved the small boulder that sat in the middle of his favourite spot. Apart from the enjoyment of climbing it and feeling considerably more powerful, even if it was only a metre higher, he loved the fact that it was not a perfect rock. It was neither a cube, nor a sphere, nor any perfect shape. It was rough, with some sharp edges and some curved edges. It was a reminder that the maze wasn’t naturally occurring, because the maze was always equal in height and width, always the same grey, never changing, never varying. But this rock was speckled, parts darker, parts lighter. It was ten times more beautiful than any colossal maze built to perfection, because that rock was built by nature, built by the irregular, ever-changing forces of nature.

As Newt sat up on the top of the rock, viewing the vista of the ramshackle buildings highlighted by the moonlight and the flickering campfire, he sighed. There was so much beauty in flaws. “So why shouldn’t the others see my flaw as beautiful?” he pondered, suddenly unsure if he said that aloud.

“Maybe we would,” said Gally, answering his question, “If you told us what it was.”

“Damn,” muttered Newt, “thought I was alone again.”

“Newt, keeping it all inside of you isn’t going to help you. Dude, just let it all out!” Gally sounded somewhat exasperated, but Newt ignored it.

“Not tonight.”

“So there is a problem?”

Newt stared at Gally, his brown eyes never wavering, never lifting, refusing to back down.

“Not. Tonight.”

Gally raised his eyebrows but said no more. Finally, wishing to break the silence which enveloped them both, he asked how Newt liked Chuck.

“He’s – he’s alright I guess. A bit vulnerable but… I’ve met worse.”

Gally nodded, satisfied with the reply.

“Yeah, he is a bit. Oh well, goodnight shuckface!”

Newt narrowed his eyes in response, but was glad that Gally left. He wasn’t ready for coming storm which his body was anticipating. He didn’t know if he’d ever be ready.

 

***

 

A few days came and went, daytime spent running, night-time spent worrying, which was even more tiring than the running.

Chuck was integrated into the Gladers’ society, still at the stage where he was experiencing each of the jobs and learning from the Keepers. His snuffles were still audible at night, and his cheeks were often wet from tears. Nevertheless, he was growing accustomed to their way of – his way of – life, and growing bolder each day.

Gally still watched his friend with concern, convinced that it was not mere homesickness which was keeping Newt awake. But he too was busy, and unable to be as of assistance as he would’ve liked.

But one day, a week later, on the runners’ next day off, everything changed.

Newt slunk off to his boulder after tea, once again making excuses of stomach cramps (which were not entirely untrue). His legs struggled to hold him up, as waves of anxiety washed over him, coating him in despair. The blond sank to his knees and lay against the rock, quietly sobbing, his face crinkled and hands protecting his tears, as if they were precious and uncommon. Which, of course, they weren’t.

“Dude, are you – are you alright?”

“Shuck off Gally, do I buggin’ look alright?” Newt refused to remove his hands, hoping that Gally was unable to see how weak and cowardly he really was.

“For klunk’s sake Newt, you’ve got to tell me the problem. I’m sure that it’s nothing that we can’t fix.”

Newt removed his hands, looking up at Gally’s face. He quickly wiped away the tears that threatened to remove his sudden composure.

He knew that it was time. That he couldn’t persevere like this, without eventually succumbing to the worry.

“Gally, I – I think – no, I know – I’m – I’m…” Newt could hardly bring himself to say it, to keep his head high and reveal his soul for any battering which it might receive.

A big shuddering breath somehow kept Newt from hysterics, and he continued.

“Gally… I’m gay.”

Gally’s eyes widened. He licked his lips. He stalled for some time before he trusted himself to answer.

“R – really. Humph.”

Newt took a few deep breaths before hurriedly hugging his friend, relief pouring through him uncontrollably.

“Get the SHUCK OFF OF ME YOU FAG!”

Newt’s eyebrows contracted in confusion.

“I bet you were thinking of me, weren’t you, you – freak. I bet you wanted to ravish me, didn’t you, you disgusting pig. You are revolting. You make me want to throw up. We weren’t even friends, were we? I bet you just wanted to get in my pants you shucked up piece of klunk!”

“Gally, I – no, I – I’m still the same person.”

“Well that person _disgusts_ me. Get out of my shucking sight,” growled Gally.

Newt began to hyperventilate. The one person he thought cared, would accept him, deserted him.

“No no no no no no no oh please NO” sobbed the blond, slumped against the rock, as he watched his world burn before his eyes. The tears were uncontrollable, streaking his face with saltiness.

“Never talk to me again” threatened Gally, each of his words twisting the knife buried within Newt’s heart, making him scream – but no sound came out.

“P-p-please Gally, don’t leave me, I – I…”

The lanky builder kicked Newt in the stomach. He walked off, fists clenched, towards the campfire.

By now, Newt had curled up into the fetal position. A long moan issued from Newt’s mouth, but it took him some time to realise that it was him moaning. Tears dropped onto the dirt, leaving tiny craters. Newt held onto his knees, gently rocking. His throat hurt, his stomach was still convulsing, and his breath was ragged.

After some time, Newt had the momentary thought that at least things couldn’t get much worse. That thought comforted him to sleep, albeit a restless one, filled with freckled boys with large noses and sneering faces, and painful kicks to the stomach.

 

***

 

When the sun finally woke the boy lying against the rock, he realised that his cheeks were encrusted with dirt and tears, which brought back the painful memories of the previous night.

He lay still for a few minutes, collecting his nerves, then bolstered the courage to venture to breakfast, and the smell of Frypan’s cooking was able to, if only momentarily, distract him from the fear which gripped him. A fear which, he discovered, was not unfounded.

“Well, well, look who it is.”

Newt looked around to see who had spoken, and found that the culprit was indeed Gally.

“Come back to try and get another of us in bed with you?” asked Gally, smirking.

No. Surely not. Gally wouldn’t – Gally couldn’t tell everybody.

“Wh-wh-what?”

“That’s right. I told everybody how you tried to kiss me like the filthy fag that you are.”

Newt gulped. Surely they wouldn’t believe Gally over him. But he could tell that the majority of them did. Chuck averted his eyes, as did Alby and Minho, but some of the other boys were staring him in the eye, challenging him. Even Frypan stopped what he was doing to stare Newt down.

Gally cracked his knuckles very loudly, undoubtedly a warning. Newt heeded it and left the way he came, walking over to the Map Room in preparation for today’s running.

Eventually Minho came, avoiding Newt’s eye. Newt knew that he had to break the silence.

“I didn’t buggin’ try to kiss him, you know.”

Minho looked at him in – pity?

“Look, I don’t care what happened between you two; all I know is that you still have a job to do, and I’ll be shucked if this is a good enough excuse for you to get out of it.”

He threw Newt the necessary items for running, and threw him some lunch as well.

“Here. We don’t want you shucking collapsing on the job – well not all of us do, anyway.”

Newt shot him a grateful smile. It was nice to know that he still had some friends – if that’s what Minho was. Maybe he was just an enemy of his enemy. It didn’t even matter to Newt. He had been kind to Newt, and that was more than he could say for the rest of the boys.

***

 

 

The knife felt strange in Newt’s hands. Foreign. He twirled it around his fingers, admiring the blade. Silver, serrated, displaying a warped reflection of the blond. He ran a finger down the edge, feeling every bump on his fingertip. It was almost intoxicating, the coolness of the metal.

The high walls of the Maze were not a dissimilar colour to the blade, but the soulless grey had much more of an effect when in the huge blocks, as opposed to the comparatively small weapon.

Newt peeled the apple. It was a new initiative of Minho’s, to see if the Grievers ate human food as well as humans. Nothing conclusive had been observed, but it was still early days. The boy put the knife back into his backpack, and took a bite out of the apple before leaving it carefully placed down, the peel lying neatly next to it.

He turned around, and began the run back home – if he could even still call it home.

 

***

 

Just ten minutes away from the Gate, Newt heard a scream – a scream of desperation, not of pain. Sprinting to the nearest crossroads, he found the source of the scream: a runner whose name he had forgotten, being pursued by a Griever, its whirring instruments just a few metres away from the terrified boy.

And suddenly, a spear appeared. Newt barely had time to shout before it pierced the other runner, protruding from his chest.

His eyes did what his mouth could not, and screamed for Newt to help him, to save him from certain death.

But Newt knew that it was already too late for that. He started to sprint away from the nightmarish scene before the first drop of the brown-haired runner’s blood reached the ground.

And he didn’t look back – he knew what he would find.

5 o’clock was rapidly approaching, according to Newt’s new watch – they had been sent up with Chuck – and he increased his pace, needing only the grisly scene he had just witnessed as incentive.

He made it through the Gate with just a minute to spare. The Gladers were already all crowded around, whispering and sending worried glances to each other. The noise of the Gate closing drowned them all out – not that they were speaking anyway. They already knew the missing boy’s fate – whether or not it had already happened was irrelevant.

Minho was the first to speak. “Did you see Leo?” Short, sharp and pointed – like a knife, a knife which Newt was to destroy any previous hopes with.

“Yeah. A… a Griever got to him before I could.”

It was all that needed to be said.

The scene replayed in Newt’s mind, and he kept seeing those pleading blue eyes asking him for the help which could have saved him.

Whispers plagued the solemn group and were finally voiced by Gally.

“It should’ve been you.”

A few nods of agreement were quickly stopped by Alby raising his voice to defend Newt.

“He’s been through enough, shuckheads, so slim it.”

Newt looked up, grateful eyes searching for Alby’s, but he refused them. The blond decided to go to the Map Room, if only to escape the few whispers which were not silenced by Alby. As he unpacked his backpack, he noticed the knife, as beckoning as ever. He pocketed it, before going off in the search for food.

It seemed that Frypan had prepared a meal for him, albeit smaller than usual, and Newt took it gratefully. He sat down by himself, abandoning his favourite spot between Gally and Alby. He guessed that that was about to become his least favourite spot.

He had eaten but a mouthful before Gally appeared at his side, eyes grinning mischievously.

“Enjoying the meal?” he asked, innocently enough.

Newt was far too wary of the brown-haired boy in front of him to answer his question.

Gally brought his hand forward, smacking Newt in the mouth before tossing his plate away.

“When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer, _fag_ ”

Newt continued to eye the boy warily, but, feeling some sort of stupid confidence, chewed agonizingly slowly before swallowing loudly.

“I was always taught not to talk with my mouth full.”

A simple retort, but it incensed Gally enough to kick the blond in the shin, before walking away, restrained by Alby and Minho, who both sent Newt a warning look to get out of there. He hobbled away, refusing to let the threatening tears escape and prove his vulnerability.

 

***

 

The metal glinted in the moonlight, capturing the very essence of the moon and displaying a warped likeness. “It really is beautiful,” thought Newt, “it’s almost a shame to dirty it with my blood.”

The alluring glint drew Newt in, until all that the blade reflected was his deep brown eyes, the colour of passion and unspoken words with a deeper meaning than any audible ones. They once more reminded him of Leo, the runner whose eyes screamed louder than any Griever ever could.

How easy it was to lose control. A mere assumption could lead to disaster, to _death_. A mere assumption could drain the lifeblood out of someone as easily as a spear through the chest, as easily as a quick slice of a blade along a wrist.

_“It should’ve been you.”_

It should’ve been him.

He laid the blade along his skin, ready to pull, to regain control.

But the dead boy’s eyes told him not to do it – that they all needed each other if they were going to survive this, that they could survive this, but he needed to stick to his job and find a shucking way out of the maze.

“I’m just as likely to die on the job,” he thought.

He threw the knife away, its purpose obsolete. He had a quick cry, releasing all the emotions which wracked his body, before going back to his hammock for the first time in two days. Frypan was softly snoring, and Gally was unmoving. Hoping it was safe, Newt clambered into his hammock, only to find it cruelly cut down the middle, letting him fall to the ground. He remained there, barely caring anymore, so devoid of emotion that he didn’t even hate Gally for the trick. He just lay there, and finally went to sleep.

 

***

 

A few more weeks passed, and Newt was slowly reinstated to his former social position, which wasn’t all that high to start off with. He was now able to finish a meal at least once per day without Gally ruining it, and he got a new hammock which Gally was forbidden from coming anywhere near.

Then one day it happened. The alarm went off, signalling that the Box was coming up with a new Greenie. The Gladers, naturally, crowded all around the box, and, as it was a day off for the runners, Newt was at the forefront of the group, eagerly awaiting someone _new_ , someone who wasn’t instantly terrified of him.

The doors opened, and a boy was revealed; he looked about sixteen, with dark hair and intense eyes.

He was _beautiful_ , Newt realised.

He offered his hand out, aching to touch the skin, to physically connect with this mysterious Greenie whose furrowed eyebrows were underlined by cognac eyes, which instantly intoxicated Newt.

But before the brunet had time to grasp the blonde’s outstretched hand, Gally intervened, pushing Newt roughly aside, adding: “Your dirty tricks won’t work here.”

So Newt stepped back, let the Greenie be taken from him. He watched as he was hauled up, and his named was asked.

“T-Thomas, I think.”

Newt smiled. It matched the kid in front of him – it was strong, but not oafishly so. It had a bit of give.

“Well, Thomas, I’m Alby, and this here is Newt. I daresay he’s dying to give you a tour, so you can go do that before you get acquainted with everyone here.”

Newt smiled, stoked that Alby still allowed him to give the Greenie tours. Gally grumbled something inaudible, but Newt ignored him.

“Right this way, young man.”

Thomas obliged, and the two headed off towards one of the Gates.

“So, Tommy,” Newt winced internally. Seriously? He was already making up nicknames for this guy? But Thomas didn’t seem to mind, so he continued. “You won’t have any memories. That’s alright. You’re scared. That’s natural. Just don’t do anything rash. And, if you _do_ do something rash, make sure that it’s not running off into the Maze.”

Right on cue, a Griever shrieked, a piercing sound that made Thomas’ face pale.

“That’s why. C’mon, let me show you my favourite spot.”

Damn damn _damn_. Why was he showing him that? But, with a sigh, they went off that way.

Thomas was silent the entire walk to the Deadheads, his eyes flickering up and down the Maze walls, judging it, sizing it up. Only a few times did he look up to his guide, but each time he did, Newt quickly pulled his eyes away from Thomas’, ashamed of the intensity with which he had been staring at him. But Thomas seemed to smile at that for some reason, almost as if he appreciated it. “No,” thought Newt, “it’s too much to hope for.”

When at last they reached the clearing with the boulder in it, Newt jumped up to the top of it, and indicated for Thomas to do the same. And there they sat, side by side, the tension thick, but neither of them saying anything.

Newt knew that he had to tell Tommy, before he found out from someone else, probably Gally. But he didn’t want to jeopardise the only real friendship he had at the moment. If it was a friendship. They had known each other for barely an hour, but already Newt felt this inexplicable connection pulling him closer to Thomas, reeling him in like a lovesick fish.

“Tommy, there’s, uh, something that I should probably tell you, um, about me.”

Newt waited for Tommy’s response, which came in the form of a nod.

“I, um, I’m gay, Tommy.”

No shock appeared on Thomas’ face. Just a smile. A real, genuine, smile, which made Newt’s heart flutter.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one then.”

“Wait, wha-what – you, you’re – oh, oh, Tommy.” And suddenly Newt was on Thomas’ shoulder, crying his eyes out, and Thomas was patting his head, rubbing small circles on his neck with his thumb, a sad smile on his face.

“Shh, now, now, it’s alright, I’m going to be here for you, don’t you worry, don’t you worry Newt. I won’t leave you.”

And suddenly Thomas was crying too, although he wasn’t sure what from – stress, sadness or happiness?

“Hey, haven’t we still got a tour to do?” asked Thomas, his hands gently brushing off Newt’s tears.

Newt chuckled stupidly. “Whatever, shuckhead.”

They both jumped down off the rock. And then Thomas’ hand was searching for Newt’s, their fingers intertwining in a bond that could be broken physically but never emotionally; they would forever protect each other from everything and everyone who tried to hurt them.

But as they got closer to the other Gladers, Newt was forced to pull his hand away. Thomas looked hurt, but didn’t try to grab his hand back.

“They… they didn’t take it so well when I told them. I – I don’t want you to be hurt like I was.”

Thomas nodded, angry that anyone could hurt such a pure and fragile creature like Newt, with his angelic hair and silky skin. But he didn’t pursue the subject, afraid that it might bring up bad memories of bad people. Of people with freckled faces and overlarge noses, of enraged kicks in the stomach, of tears which couldn’t be held back, conceding weakness.

“No,” thought the brunet, “better not to bring it back up at all.”

 

***

 

The campfire that night drew Thomas away from Newt, who insisted that he had to go on his first night. Newt dared not venture near the gathering and risk encountering Gally, and so returned to his spot. He had grown very familiar with in the past few weeks: each blade of grass that gently tickled his feet whenever he went barefoot; each curve of the rock which scraped his hands roughly; each whisper of the trees as they talked, passing messages with a shake of their leaves; each stick that lay on the ground, excommunicated from its brothers; each breath of the insistent wind, urging him in whichever direction it pleased.

Newt watched the sun fall down below the Maze walls, pulled by invisible forces who then shoved the moon and its pale beauty up, hovering far above, out of touch for mortals.

“You look very deep in thought.”

Newt turned around to see Thomas grinning up at him.

“How’d you get away?”

“Gally was being rather unkind about you. Now his nose is going to look even uglier.”

Newt smiled broadly at this. It was nice to think that someone would actually stand up for him.

“Anyway, Alby told me to go cool off, so here I am. Thought you’d be here.”

He jumped up beside the blond, and snuggled in close to him.

“Tell about what happened between you two.”

It wasn’t authoritative, it wasn’t pushing, it wasn’t insistent. It was Thomas trying to get to know Newt, trying to find out how much pain he had been through, how much he would have to remedy.

And so Newt explained to Thomas everything, sparing no detail, no encounter, no cruel prank. Thomas listened carefully, determined to absorb every word. He had no idea of the brutality with which one person could treat another, the disgust which something _unchangeable_ aroused, the lack of pity that existed in some people. Newt couldn’t hold back the tears, and they slowly travelled down his face. His voice became hoarse and painful, and yet still he persevered. He wanted Tommy to know every single thing, to be aware of the danger and retribution which he faced.

By the end Thomas too was crying, partly out of fear but mostly out of pain for his friend, his friend who has suffered so much, bared his soul only to have it attacked mercilessly.

“Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Thomas hugged Newt, pulling him closer and closer until he could feel his pounding heartbeat.

“Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I like you.”

“I’m glad I’m not the only one then.”

At this Newt chuckled.

“Tommy?”

But instead of the “Yeah?” that Newt expected, he found lips on his, comforting, and he answered back in kind.

The kiss tasted salty from tears, and was, in part, a sad one, but still everything Newt hoped for.

A tongue intruded his mouth, and Newt let it, he let Thomas take control.

The bliss was enthralling, leaving Newt at its mercy and whim. Finally, Tommy pulled back, and the two gulped air for a while, before leaning back, heads spinning a bit – partly from lack of oxygen, partly from the high they were both feeling.

“I was gonna ask you to do that anyway,” muttered Newt with a smile. Thomas laughed, and right at that moment, things just felt perfect. Surely life couldn’t get much better than this. This was the point in time that Newt could pinpoint as to when happiness crept back into his life, revealing that it never entirely abandoned him, just momentarily… disappeared.

 

***

 

The next morning, Newt awoke with a brunet resting on his shoulder. He looked at his watch and, realising that he had to go, tried to gently shake the boy off. But when he did, the boy awoke, his breath hitched in his throat and eyes scanned the horizon for something recognisable. They settled on Newt, which calmed him down.

“Tommy, we’ve got to go down to breakfast, and then I’ve got to run – literally.”

The boys went their separate ways before breakfast, so as not to cause suspicion. Newt went to get changed, whilst Thomas headed straight to the food, his stomach rumbling loudly.

They sat together at breakfast, but were not together nearly long enough for each of them, as Newt wolfed down his food. They said their goodbyes innocently enough, but there was a longing look in their eyes that begged the other not to go.

Running that day was borderline torture, and Newt almost lost his way several times because his mind kept wandering to the brunet and ignoring which path he was taking. He had to backtrack whenever this happened, and didn’t end up running as far as he had hoped to. But still, nothing would have changed from the other days, and so he didn’t worry too much about it.

When he came back, he found a large ruckus, and soon discovered the cause: a _girl_.

She was admittedly quite beautiful, and he saw many of his fellow Gladers staring up at her in awe, admiring her cheekbones and her fine eyebrows which were drawn in anger. Thomas was standing beside her, whispering in her ear. Newt felt and short pang of jealousy, but quickly unclenched his fists. He knew that Tommy wasn’t interested in her. Although he wasn’t sure if the reverse could be said. She certainly seemed to be batting her eyelashes rather seductively.

“Nothing to interest you here.”

“Shuck off, Gally.”

Thomas noticed the blond and sent him a quick wave, which Newt promptly returned. He fought his way through the obstinate Gladers to Tommy.

“This is Teresa,” said the brunet, pointing at the girl. “Teresa, meet Newt, my boyfriend.”

Teresa held her hand out, thinking nothing of it. But the Gladers definitely thought something of it.

“Another shucking fag!”

“Shuck off, we don’t want another of you animals here!”

“Send them into the Maze for a night!”

Newt looked up at Thomas, his eyes pleading for an explanation. Teresa withdrew her hand with “Hmph” but Newt didn’t even notice. He stared at his boyfriend, searching his face for some sort of answer, some reason why he had defied all of the advice Newt had given him, some reason why he had ignored the stories that Newt had told him. But all he could see was a stupid beam on his face, a childish smile that knew no consequences.

And it gave him the confidence to go up to Tommy, and to take his hand and wrap his fingers around his own. It gave him the confidence to kiss him – chaste, upon the lips, but communicating the message required.

He could see Teresa smiling in the corner of his eye, and could see Gally pretending to throw up to a chorus of laughs and jeers. But he ignored it. He was emboldened by the hand intertwined with his, and amidst the expressions of disgust, he heard clapping.

It was Chuck. His clapping was not sarcastic – it was sincere, a strong statement of opposing Gally and his cronies. And then Minho joined in, as did Alby, the man’s large hands creating enough noise to rival Gally’s sneers and snickers. And then a few others joined in, allies that Newt never knew that he had: Zart, Winston, even a couple of kids he didn’t know the name of.

Thomas grinned, his smile as beautiful as it had ever been, and Newt felt a foreign tear travel down his face – it was a tear of happiness. The saltiness tasted different – like joy. It was a strange feeling for Newt. But it was far from an unwelcome one.

Thomas ran a hand through the blonde’s hair, his eyes loving.

“ _Loving_ ,” thought Newt. “I like the sound of that.”

 

***

 

They moved Newt’s hammock so it sat between a couple of trees in his clearing. They spent the night together, relishing the sensation of skin on skin, whispering pledges and promises. They lay side by side, and neither was uncomfortable.

“Newt?”

“Mph?”

“I love you.”

Newt could barely see Thomas’ face; it was covered in shadows. But he knew that Tommy waited for a reply with bated breath, not daring to exhale lest it disrupt this moment of perfection.

“I love you too.”

And suddenly there were kisses everywhere – on his face, on his neck and on his collarbone. He let out an involuntary moan, savouring the feeling of appreciation, of worshipping, of _love_.

They continued like this until the small hours of the morning, when the stress and physical exertion caught up with Newt, coercing him into a restful sleep. Thomas fell asleep soon after, comforted by the deep breathing of the boy beside him.

***

 

The alarm on Newt’s watch woke up the boys, jolting them awake instantly. Thomas rubbed his eyes and combed his hair back with one swift glide from his fingers.

“Do you really have to go?” the brunet asked, eyes pleading like a puppy.

Newt didn’t reply; Tommy already knew what the answer was. Instead, he heaved a great sigh and sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

At breakfast the two boys got a few pointed looks and a few rough words, but nothing they couldn’t ignore easily enough. They held hands, neither wanting to let go and lose the other.

“And how are the sleepyhead lovers going this morning?” asked Teresa with a smile. She at least was willing to sit down next to them and treat them as if they were _normal_ , defying Gally’s angry stare with an easy toss of her hair. Chuck joined them too, seeming a bit awkward, but still willing to make an effort. Newt, as per usual, had to eat quickly, but slowed down, realising that Gally wasn’t likely to attack when he faced more opponents than one easy target.

He finished and, giving Thomas a quick peck, said his goodbyes and left for the Map Room. He got ready for the run and attended the quick briefing before going down his set path, barely needing to chop off the vines to find his way back – he had traversed the exact same path so many times. Still, he did cut the vines, and was grateful for it later, as it allowed his mind to be free to wander to Thomas on the way back.

He made it back with plenty of time, and was faced with a group of Gladers milling about the Gate when he returned.

“What’s the problem this time?” Newt asked Chuck, whose face was drawn tight in worry.

“Apparently Minho found a dead Griever, so him and Alby went to check it out. But… well, they should’ve been back a while ago.”

Surely not. The thought was almost inconceivable. They couldn’t lose Minho and Alby – he couldn’t lose Minho and Alby. But there was nothing he could do but cross his fingers tight and hope for the best. His boyfriend found him, and threw and arm around his shoulder, drawing him in closer.

“I’m… I’m sure they’re fine Newt,” said Thomas, his voice betraying the optimism in the words.

Another look at Newt’s watch read 4:59.

And then there they were, Minho struggling to drag Alby fast enough, but he wouldn’t abandon the man. The Gate started to screech, closing too quickly for Minho to have any hope of making it through.

Thomas let go of Newt’s hand and ran towards the Gate, slipping in just before it closed.

And then he was gone.

He had left Newt.

Stunned silence filled the Glade, pierced by the scream erupting from Newt’s mouth. Inconsolable anguish, desperate grief and unrelenting agony all rolled into one hideous sound.

And then Newt was banging at the Gate, begging for his lover back, attacking the stone with his tears. Teresa pulled him back before he hurt himself, and he fought desperately against the force taking him away from _Tommy_ , from the light that stood as the solitary beacon in the mire of his life.

Newt sunk to his knees, his legs refusing to hold him up anymore, before throwing one final shout in the direction of the Maze which had stolen any chance of happiness that he ever had. He fell to his side, nothing moving but his chest as it struggled to take in air between the violent sobs attacking him. He curled up, not caring what happened to him anymore, only able to think about Tommy, about his smile and his eyes and his delicate, caring caresses.

Teresa led Chuck away, and the group dispersed, searching for food to take their minds off the dead boys, eyes not quite meeting one another, scared of what each other’s thoughts were.

Only Gally remained, his face expressionless as he looked down at the sobbing boy beside him.

“This is what you deserve, you know.”

Receiving no answer, he continued.

“You don’t deserve to be happy. Only humans should be happy, not a filthy fag like you – or like dear little Tommy.”

Met with silence, he persisted.

“Do you think he’s dead yet? Cut in two, or bleeding out slowly, ready to be eaten.”

Gally laughed.

“No, I don’t think _Tommy_ is going to be happy ever again. And I’m going to make sure that you’re not, either.”

Newt looked up to see the first kick make contact with his knee. He felt no pain for several seconds, just tried to comprehend what was happening.

Then the pain hit him, not washing over him in waves but steady, constant and sharp.

The second kick hit his shin, and Newt hoped that the crack he heard was Gally’s boot. The pain from the kick, coupled with the knee, was enough to push the blond into darkness, a darkness which wasn’t penetrated by the many kicks that followed the first two.

Gally, satisfied with his work, walked away panting, and didn’t look back.

 

***

 

Newt woke up to see a teary-eyed Thomas beside him.

“I must be dead. Oh klunk” he said, before returning to the paradise of a dreamless sleep.

“No,” whispered Tommy, “you’re as alive as I am.”

 

 

***

 

A snore woke Newt up, and when his eyes adjusted, he discovered the source of the noise to be his boyfriend, curled up next to Newt on the hospital bed.

“Hospital bed?” he thought.

Another snore escaped from the brunet, and Newt found himself smiling – beaming – at the boy snuggled in close to him. The snores were not violent, as Frypan’s were, nor were they particularly loud. They only endeared Thomas to the blond, and he leant back, savouring the moment.

The peace was broken by a Medjack who barged in, his face showing no small degree of relief.

“You’re awake. Thank shuck, I thought I might lose you.”

Newt, resigned to the fact that he was alive, suddenly noticed his right leg was elevated. Then a wave of pain hit, and he cried out from shock.

“Well at least the nerves in it weren’t damaged.”

Newt glared at the Medjack, whose name he had never bothered to learn.

“Gally got it pretty bad. Really bad. I think running may be a thing of the past.”

Newt paled – running was the only job he had ever done, was the only thing he knew how to do. It couldn’t have been stolen from him so easily.

“I’m gonna re-dress the wound, if that’s alright. Although I suggest you look away. It ain’t pretty.”

“It kind of suits him then, doesn’t it.”

Thomas shuffled out of the bed, careful not to go anywhere near the damaged leg, and laid a kiss upon his boyfriend’s forehead, before staring him in the eyes deeply, as if trying to answer a question in his mind.

Newt closed his eyes, agony threatening to bring him back to the murky blackness, but he fought, wanting to stay with Thomas as long as he could.

“Can – can I stay Niko? I won’t get in your way or anything, I’ll just stand in the corner, I promise.”

The Medjack rolled his eyes but grudgingly said yes, shooing Thomas to the left of Newt. He bent down to take the current bandage off Newt’s leg, and grimaced when he saw what colour some of the outer layers of the bandage were, let alone the leg.

Newt forced his breathing to keep even and steady, but the pain erupting in his leg as it greeted the cold air was almost unbearable. He looked down at the leg and felt his stomach drop.

It was varying shades of purple and yellow, entirely discoloured, and lumps protruded from every angle imaginable; Gally must’ve deliberately targeted as much of the leg as he could. The kneecap was the worst, sticking out a long, long way away from its usual position.

No matter how much he persevered, no matter how hard he tried, Newt knew from that moment that any chance of running again had dissipated, leaving agonising pain in its wake. He brushed away a tear with a quick swipe of his hand.

The pain of Niko re-wrapping the wound was equal to when he had unwrapped it, and Newt held his breath in, waiting for the pain to subside. Thomas grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly, murmuring reassuring things to Newt.

When his mission was complete, Niko stepped back, admiring his handiwork.

“Gally’s gone, you know.”

Newt looked up at the Medjack.

“They sent him into the Maze. He isn’t coming back.”

The mention of the Maze drew Newt’s gaze to Thomas, suddenly remembering the events of that fateful Newt.

“Why aren’t you dead? You went into the Maze.”

“The Grievers weren’t quite as smart as you gave them credit for.”

Newt nodded. The Medjack walked out of the room leaving the two boys alone.

Newt suddenly felt his bottom lip trembling.

“Why did you leave me?”

“I – I didn’t lea-“

“You LEFT ME!” screamed Newt. “You left me alone. I was _defenceless_.”

“I – I just-“

“You left me for what? For a chance to have a nice little poke around the Maze? People _die_ in there, Tommy. It’s not just some story they make up, some shucking cover-up. You severed yourself from me without a second thought. Is that what _love_ means to you Tommy? Does it mean so little to you, Tommy?”

“Newt, I was only-“

By now tears were pouring down Newt’s face, but he ignored them.

“That isn’t what it means to me, Tommy. It means that we stick together, that we never cut ourselves off from the other, that we don’t just run into a shucking _death trap_ for no reason, that we don’t leave each other defenceless.”

“Newt, please.” Tears were streaking down Thomas’ face, and he could taste their saltiness.

“Don’t you shucking dare, Tommy. This – this is all _your_ fault.”

“No, no” mouthed Thomas. “Please, no.”

“Nobody has ever survived a night in the Maze. How do you think that made me feel? Did you even give a shucking thought towards how I might feel, practically knowing that you were dead?”

“Newt, I’m sorry.”

“Well sorry doesn’t shucking cut it.”

“Newt, I’m sorry! If I could take it back, I would, but I can’t, OK? I can’t. I – I can’t.”

For a while, only the two boys’ heavy breathing was audible.

“I was so _scared_ , Tommy. So, so scared.”

“I know, baby, I know.”

“Don’t ever do it again, OK?”

Thomas offered no argument, instead leaning in to kiss the blonde’s lips hungrily. The blond put up no resistance, closing his eyes and caressing Thomas’ face with a gentle hand. When Thomas pulled back, they both panted, and Newt weakly smiled. He traced Thomas’ lips with his fingers, admiring the soft, moist skin.

“I do love you, you know.”

“I know” replied Newt, and an appeased Thomas crawled back in bed with Newt, his head laying on the blonde’s shoulder.

“But Tommy, there’s something I want you to know” said Newt, his face grave. His boyfriend’s face popped up and faced him, brown eyes worried.

“You snore.”

Thomas and Newt both laughed, borderline hysterically, for a long time, feeling the stress melt away, banished by happiness, before resuming their positions and drifting off to sleep.

 

***

 

The next week was difficult for Newt; Thomas had been nominated as a runner in Newt’s place, and daytime passed slowly, with few distractions apart from the occasional screams erupting from Alby; the Changing was no easy process.

Teresa came to visit often, and her cheerfulness always seemed to infect Newt. Her first visit was awful, though, with the majority of it passing by with her apologising profusely for leaving him alone with Gally.

“Just shut up,” he had said. “If you say sorry one more time, I’m going to kick you with my good leg.”

She filled him in on what he had missed whilst in the coma. She had found him not long after his beating, and Gally was soon imprisoned. The Medjacks performed miracles that night, she said, keeping him alive. They could’ve easily let him die. But they didn’t.

The next morning Thomas and Minho and walked back through the Gate, hauling Alby. They were the first to ever survive a night in the Maze, and said they had made an important discovery, but all that was put on hold when Thomas heard of Newt’s condition.

He had stayed by Newt’s side the entire time he was asleep, which was four days. Food had to be brought up for him, and he refused to leave for anything but the bathroom.

“He really cares about you, you know. He really does love you.”

Newt had smiled at this.

Chuck had been another regular visitor, and often made up wild stories to entertain Newt. Newt’s favourite story was about the Griever outcast, who was forced to stay at the top of a big block in the Maze, and whose only food was the occasional bird that strayed too close.

“But one day,” said Chuck, his face wildly animated, “the Griever outcast met another Griever outcast. They saw each other, and with a whir of instruments, they fell in love. Together, they took on their captors, and died in a mushy pulp of love. The end.”

Minho visited Newt just once; he was the temporary leader whilst Alby was incapacitated, and was finding that being the leader of 50 teenage boys – and one girl – was much more difficult than Alby had made it seem.

After a week, Newt was ‘discharged’ and forced to go back to his hammock. He was able to walk with the aid of crutches. It was the runners’ day off, and Thomas was fawning all over him, trying to keep him as comfortable as possible. He brought food to him, and watched him eat it with a smile plastered over his face.

“Good to see that you haven’t lost your appetite.”

“I certainly haven’t lost my appetite for you,” replied the blond, his eyes mischievous, but the brunet refused them.

“Uh-uh. Niko said no strenuous activity for at least a month.”

“A month?” Newt pouted. Thomas tried to ignore him, but to no avail, and he finally caved in.

“I guess what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him…”

Newt chuckled, and met Thomas’ lips with his own. Thomas tried to pull back and say something witty, but Newt wouldn’t let him. “You’re not running away, this time” he thought.

 

***

 

Newt hobbled around the garden, his leg still tender and weak. It was no longer discoloured, and two weeks had done miracles for it.

Gally was never mentioned again – not in Newt’s presence, anyway. He was grateful for it. His leg was a strong enough reminder of what cruelty really is, and how easily it is inflicted upon another.

Newt spent the nights sleeping in the same hammock as Tommy, feeling protected from the malice of the world. Only Tommy’s soft snores could calm Newt’s racing heart after a nightmare, only his deep breathing could even out Newt’s.

As he bent down to pick up some beans, he felt a hand trace his spine. He squirmed a bit, and turned around to face his attacker.

“How’s it going?” asked Tommy

“How – how long have you been here?”

“A while. Ten minutes, I guess.”

“That’s creepy.”

“That’s me.”

Newt looked into Tommy’s eyes, happily drowning in their perfection. The brunet ran his fingers through the beautiful blond hair, gently smiling. His eyes were adoring, they were caring – they were loving.

“ _Loving_ ,” thought Newt, “I like the sound of that."

**Author's Note:**

> Reasons to not hate this:  
> \- It's my first fanfic.  
> \- I'm but a young 'un, a mere 16 years of age.  
> \- I'm Australian, and for some reason everyone seems to like Australians (I don't).  
> \- It would be rather rude.
> 
> Prutty pls chuck me a comment.  
> Thanks y'all


End file.
